


Do One More Thing For Me

by newtntommy



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Anchors, Feelings Realization, Fluff, M/M, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 20:50:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtntommy/pseuds/newtntommy
Summary: Newt is slowly losing his mind, and the only thing that seems to help is holding Thomas's hand.





	Do One More Thing For Me

**Author's Note:**

> Newt being unable to tie his shoes because of his hand immediately gave me this idea!!

He doesn’t mean to do it. He doesn’t mean to do anything that would hurt his friendship between the other boy in any way. 

It just sort of happened. He was shocked by the result – nearly caused his heart to burst through his chest. No consequence followed though. No disapproving looks. No confusion or interrogating eyes prying into him like daggers. Life went on, and Newt knows that’s most likely why he repeats the act again and again.

He isn’t sure if he does it voluntarily, or if his body just moves on its own like it had done the first time.

It was when he reaches down to tie his shoes. For a sparing moment, Newt forgets about the disease racing through his body, and he leans down for his shoe. Pain sparks up his forearm like a lightning bolt, and he loses the ability to properly move it. The tendons suddenly stop working the way they are supposed to, and Newt moves his fingers experimentally to coach them into moving again. 

Dread feels his head as he remembers again, and he curses himself for letting himself forget another thing. His memory isn’t the best anymore, which he expected. Though, he never thought it would happen this fast. There was so much to do. There was so much that was expected from him. He needs to pull his weight. He can’t let his friends – _Minho_ down. They’ve come so far. 

It’s when he is delicately massaging the rotting muscle of his arm that he feels it. It causes him to jump a bit in his seat, not ready for the sudden pressure of someone else’s hand around his. He moves defensively, yanking his arm back so whoever it is won’t see the black veins decorating his arm. He wasn’t ready for that discussion yet. He wasn’t ready for the pity. 

_He doesn’t want the help._

The hand on his tugs him back, sliding fingers into the spaces between his own. Newt hitches a breath as he turns around and finds Thomas hovering above him with those doe eyes staring at him in worry. 

“Newt?” 

Newt has so many reactions, but none of them involve responding with actual words. Thomas is way too close, and he fights between wanting to jump back or move forward. His fingers are jittery due to the odd angle of their hands, that Newt desperately wants to fix. He works to calm his racing heartbeat, cracking a weak smile with a cough. 

He clears his throat. He wets his lips. He does everything except for forming words. All too caught up in the way Thomas’s skin is warm against his cold fingers, and how their fingers unbelievably fit like puzzle pieces. He’s hit with a wave of familiarity like he’s used to this sensation, but he’s never once held someone’s hand in his life. Well, as far as he can remember. 

He swallows dryly, forgetting what had been going on before Thomas grabbed for his hand. Nausea forms in the pit of his stomach of the sight of Thomas peering at him with such distress. There’s so much swimming in Thomas’s brown eyes, and Newt wants to slap him. He wants to yell at Thomas for letting him worry so much, when there are so much other things to be thinking about. For example, Minho’s escape. 

He can’t do that, though, because Thomas is still holding his hand. The fact that someone is holding his hand has him lost. The little space between him and the other male has him frozen. 

There’s commotion behind Thomas, which finally pushes Newt out of his silence. He croaks a quiet, “I’m fine, Tommy.” 

The air in his lungs is stolen away from him when Thomas lets go of his hand, leaving him cold. 

****

The second time was not intentional on his part either. It shocks Newt nearly as much as the first. 

Newt slowly bends his fingers, not flinching when the roof door opens and shuts behind him. He knows it’s Thomas coming to ask him about him yelling back in the room. The idea of Thomas being upset with him doesn’t feel right. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and somewhere in his chest begins to hurt. He shivers under the scrutiny that Thomas gives him, subconsciously moving his fingers to make them work again. It was getting harder each time. 

He works up the nerve to make eye contact with Thomas. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he shamefully apologizes before turning away. 

“It’s okay, Newt,” Thomas responds quickly. Newt hates how fast he forgives him. Thomas was too bloody nice for his own good sometimes. 

Newt sucks in a breath, deciding to announce the dreadful news like ripping off a bandaid. “I suppose it’s best time as any,” he whispers emptily. He pulls up his sleeve, leaving his diseased arm up on display. 

Looking at it again makes him bite his lip, fidgeting with his fingers again to make them move. They struggle to comply, and Newt tries to control his anger. 

The anger is drenched in cold water when his hand is suddenly being held. He watches with wide eyes as Thomas laces their fingers together once more, squeezing a bit to make it official. 

Newt doesn’t know what to do but to bask in the warmth that Thomas seeps in through his skin. It swallows him whole, and it makes him feel cured for a brief minute. It makes him feel like he’s back in the glade. When the sun was shining just right above the walls. The one moment in the day when Newt felt truly content. 

Newt doesn’t realize he closed his eyes until he goes to blink. He opens his eyes and looks over at Thomas, who is staring entranced with Newt’s arm. 

Thomas looks back at Newt and says, “We’re going to fix that. We can still help you.”

_It is a crime to look at me like that._

Newt’s too happy sitting shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand to argue. Newt lost something in that maze. Something big that poisoned his brain into climbing up one of the walls to end it all. Now, after three years, he finally feels the hole diminishing. 

*****

The third time, Newt was being selfish. Though, is it selfish when he is so close to death? 

Newt, Thomas, and Gally are walking through the underground tunnels, and Newt glares down at his leg wanting to saw the bloody thing clean off.

Pain radiates Newt’s leg, causing him to hiss quietly with each step he takes. Last time he looked at his leg was thirty minutes ago, and his leg now looks exactly like his arm with dark, black veins all over. It was getting him fast, never missing a moment. It takes every bit of his concentration to force his leg to comply with his demands. 

His hand twitches at his side. Newt is unable to control his thumb and pointer finger now. 

_Alby. Chuck. Winston.  
Winston. Charles-Chuck. Alby.  
Chuck. Winston. Al…Alby?_

The mere idea of forgetting who his leader and former best friend was strikes Newt like a freight train. It takes him by surprise, and he needs something to hold him. He needs something to embrace him. He needs-

Without another thought, Newt gingerly takes Thomas’s hand in his. He breathes deep at the touch. The contact ties him back together like an anchor he desperately needs. It opens his lungs up wide, and he takes multiple deep breaths. His vision clears a tiny bit, and Alby’s face pops up in his mind. 

He nervously looks at Thomas, but only finds the other male looking at him with a small smile tugging at his lips. Newt can tell Thomas is fighting the pity, knowing he would strangle him for doing so. 

_Alby. Chuck. Winston._

*****

The fourth time, Newt was angry. 

Teresa was sitting in a chair a few feet from him and the others, and all she can do is look at Thomas. She looks at Thomas as if he was her knight in shining armor. As if he was the knight that was going to save her from Gally’s interrogation. 

He’s not stupid. He knows Teresa can hold her own, but in this situation, she doesn’t. She’s one against five right now, and the odds aren’t good for her.

What makes her so special? What makes her think that Thomas was going to betray them for her? 

What makes her think that Thomas was going to betray _him_ for her?

Newt grows angrier when he notices Thomas staring at Teresa with his hands clutched tight in his lap. His hands are in balls as if he was working to hold himself back from running over and getting Gally away from her. Like he was going to run over and hold _her_ hand.

Something snaps in Newt’s chest, and he can feel something else control him. His anger flares in his chest, and he flexes his fingers with only a tidbit of exaggeration. He rubs at his arm pathetically, unable to stop himself. 

The response is immediate. 

Warm fingers encage his own, lacing them together. Newt peers down at their joined hands. His displeasure melts like butter, slipping through the cracks of his last remaining amounts of sanity. 

In fact, the touch is a cure itself. His senses and reason return to him, and he tightens his hold on Thomas’s hand. 

He tenses when he sees Teresa watching them. Her expression holds no hatred or resentment. It was a look of speculation, and the only thing that keeps Newt from interrogating is the fact that Thomas has begun to run his thumb along his knuckles. It’s soothing, and he sinks back into his chair. 

Though, even Thomas’s touch can’t calm Newt’s racing heart when he sees no confusion in Teresa’s eyes. It was like Thomas holding his hand wasn’t anything new. A normalcy of some kind, and Newt wonders if Teresa has ever seen them hold hands before the maze. Before everything. 

Was it anything new?

*****

_Alby. Chuck. Winston.  
Alby. Chuck. Winston.   
Alby. Chuck.  
Alby. Chuck.  
Alby?_

Newt spits out black liquid over the railing, choking on his own saliva. He heaves heavily, and he works to gain a breath. He senses a pair of eyes on him, and he glances up to find Teresa observing him. It stirs something inside him, and he wants to bark at her for treating him like some sort of lab rat. 

He’s too weak, though, and he claws on the railing to keep afoot. His fingers are stiff, and they crack when he moves them. 

He jumps when someone pops up in his personal space. He goes to move away, but a hand clasps onto his. He coughs out another few drops of black liquid before pressing against the body. 

He feels pathetic for how he clings onto Thomas, wrapping his other arm around the other boy’s back. He can’t help it, though. He’s forgetting everything he used to know no matter how many times he chants his former friends from the glade. 

His emotions spiral out of his control, and he can’t get a grip on his movements. He’s losing control over his mind and body, and he is bloody terrified. 

Thomas is the only thing that can make him feel somewhat normal again. Thomas’s support anchors him, but he can tell it soon won’t be enough. Until then, he’ll take what he can get. 

“We have to go, Newt,” Thomas declares in his right ear. 

Newt gives a curt nod. Thomas’s hand begins to slip from his fingers, and Newt quickly tightens his hold. Thomas must get the message, smiling as he keeps hold on Newt’s hand and begin to go down the stairs. 

*****

Newt growls as he attacks the stranger, growing angrier each time he misses. With each slash of the knife, the other boy jumps away right on time. Newt growls again, moving faster. 

Bombs go off around him, taking Newt off guard and losing his balance. Though, his eyes are locked on the body in front of him. 

He takes another strike. 

“Newt, please!” 

Newt’s mind clears up enough at the voice, and he widens his eyes at the sight of male in front of him. Familiarity bubbles in the pit of his stomach, and he jerks his hand one last time. He runs smack into the other’s chest, freezing completely in his stance. Newt looks at the boy in front of him and realization dawns on him on who it is, and his heart sinks. 

Thomas jumps away from him in horror, and both of them look down to find the knife lodged in Newt’s chest. Newt looks back up at Thomas, muttering his last word with his last breath. 

“Tommy.” 

_I love you. Thank you._

He remembers falling, but he doesn’t remember hitting the floor with Thomas’s hand in his.


End file.
